Second Chances
by blackbeltchic
Summary: Buffy gets to LA just in time to see her lover die. But when one of the Powers That Be gives him a second chance at a demon free life, sans memories, will he remember who he once was and who she is before it's too late?
1. Prologue

Second Chances

**Author**: Karen  
**Disclaimer**: The characters belong to Joss Whedon and everyone else  
**Summary**: Buffy gets to LA just in time to see her lover die. But when one of the Powers That Be gives him a second chance at a demon free life, sans memories, will he remember who he once was and who she is before it's too late?  
**Author's** **Notes**: When I first got this idea, it was going to be AU, with Angel's character based on a few womanizers in some of my current favorite books (Evanovitch's Full series, Max Holt and his uncle, ect...) but I figured out a way for it to be cannon, mostly.  
**Spoilers**: Not Fade Away  
**Distribution**: If you want it, please ask.  
**Feedback**: A must.

* * *

Prologue

She got there in time to see the demons flee, and her lover fall. Three blocks were covered with demon bodies. But the one demon she cared about didn't leave a body she could mourn over. Through her tears, she cursed him for not letting her know what was going down, cursed him for not allowing her to help, as he had helped her so many times.

_You did what you set out to accomplish, vampire. _

_Yes, he said, or thought. He didn't know exactly how it worked. He was standing in a white, ethereal room, talking to a god and a goddess as easy as he would his best friends. _

_But you signed away your reward, the goddess said. He thought he heard sadness in her voice. _

_I deserve no reward, he said, not after what he had done to his friends, his lover, and his son. _

_But you deserve something, she said. It won't be the Shanshu. The prophecy will fade into lore, yet another unfulfilled prophecy. But you will still receive your humanity. _

_But I did noth- _

_You will have no recollection of this, or any other paranormal event. You will not remember your life, or your time as a vampire. The slate is wiped clean. You will live your life and die a mortal death, never having to deal with the supernatural again._

_But what about-_

_It is done. She placed a hand on his chest. The white room faded into more whiteness, and then she was gone._


	2. Chapter One

Second Chances

"Drink, drink, drink!" the crowd chanted as he downed his fifth beer in a minute. Once he slammed the glass onto the bar top, a cheer went up and a few buds clapped him on the back.

"Another!" his friend cried, but he waved it off.

"I have to meet Stephanie in half an hour. Besides, it's too early yet to party so hard," he slapped a fifty on the bar, to pay for his and his friends drinks, with an excellent tip left over.

"What happened to that hottie, Nikki?"

"Keep up, man. That was last week. This week he's into dominating redheads," another friend laughed. "You know he goes through women like a normal guy goes through toilet paper. He has more sex in a week than you do in a year."

"At least I get some on a regular basis," he said defensively.

"You're married, it doesn't count."

"Yeah," he leaned back against the bar, "But I've seen his wife, and God damn it, if she isn't drop dead gorgeous. I'd love to take her to Jamaica for a weekend, just to see those tan lines." His friend elbowed him to say hands off, "Hey, I don't date married women," he said defensively, "Well, there was that one time, but she was a lying bitch."

"Yeah, just a mention of commitment makes him break out in hives," one of his friends laughed.

He laughed along with him, throwing his head back, allowing the laugh to take over his body. Once the merriment had subsided, he checked his watch. "It's been fun, but I've gotta go. Can't be late," he said, pushing himself away from the bar.

"Yeah, it would ruin the O'Connor reputation."

"Where ya taking her?"

"It's a secret," he said, walking away. Liam O'Connor cut an impressive swath through the crowd in his khaki slacks and navy sports coat. With light brown hair that looked impressive with his deep, soulful eyes and his killer smile, he could have any woman he wanted, and generally did. The tabloids threw his name around like a baseball, making wild accusations about him and his 'conquests' as they called them.

He didn't see it the way they did. Nine out of ten girls he dated and broke it off with after a few dates went away amicable. There were the few that thought sex was more than just a good time, and was to be taken seriously, but the expensive gifts he lavished on them didn't hurt. He had dated his share of women who wanted him for his money, he usually saw right through them. But as long as he got what he wanted out of the deal…and he usually did.

Women adored him and men were jealous, he couldn't help it. Only son to a mega-millionaire, he had gone to the best schools, and he didn't have to work to keep up with his lavish lifestyle. Not that he didn't, he owned a small, private investigations office because he liked the challenge of it, enjoyed the mind work, and even the leg work that went along with the job. And he had a strict billing policy; those that could, paid oodles that went to whatever charity he fancied at the time, and those that couldn't, didn't. Most of the time he worked for free, and that was fine with him, not wanting to take someone's well-earned cash when it could be used to pay for a child's education, or to support a family. Many would think he didn't get a lot of business, but the lesser fortunate were drawn to his penetrating eyes and his listening skills, and the rich and famous would rather have their matters dealt with discretely by one of their own rather than the police and have a chance of the media getting wind. With his good looks and free wallet, he was welcomed to the most exclusive parties and clubs without thought, and yet he still had college buds that hanged out at the local bar, where he was also welcome.

* * *

She was in LA on a mission. There had been a rash of millionaires winding up dead. It had started in Switzerland, and she had taken the case to get her mind off her broken heart. But now that she had followed what she believed to be an undead murderess across the globe to LA, it was getting mighty hard not to focus on her heart.

LA was where it all began, after all. LA was where she had first gotten the gig that led her to be what she was, and what she wasn't. It was also the city where she had run after she had sent him to hell, and where he ran to escape her, and where he had died. She hadn't been to LA since.

But here she was, sitting at a café, waiting for the leading suspect to make an appearance. She had paid off the limo driver that was taking the fine lady out tonight, but she needed to see her, make sure that she was really the one. She'd give up following her until after she left the restaurant with her date, stake outs just weren't her thing, too much waiting and sitting and down time for her taste. Too much time to think about all the things wrong in her life. She'd stay in the area, but she knew the suspect enough to know her pattern. This was the third date, so the guy would be found dead in the morning if she didn't do something. This would be the tenth victim, and she really hated it when the death toll got to the double digits. This time, she was one step ahead, instead of one behind. She'd get the bitch tonight, then go back to England to sulk. Or maybe she'd take a vacation. She always wanted to go to see the castles in the Loire Valley, in the upper part of France. She had heard as a girl, when she went through her princess phase, that some of the castles, like Usse, were the models for the Cinderella Castle. Or maybe she'd go to Disney World, she had never been there…

A movement caught her eye, and she looked to see the woman coming out of her rented apartment, wearing a dress that left little to the imagination. Three-inch heels with laces that ran up to her knees were the only things until about three inches from the woman's hip, where the 'dress' began. Her dark olive cleavage bulged from the corset like top that looked to be a size too small. She had to wonder if she had had to break a few ribs to get the thing on. An inch of skin showed between the laces until well below her navel.

"Dressed to kill," she smirked at her own joke, leaving her table with a twenty in the center. She kept her eyes on the woman, knowing without a doubt she was the killer. Her outfit screamed predator. But she pulled it off spectacularly.

She slipped behind the wheel of her yellow bug as the limo pulled away from the curb. She waited a moment, before slipping into traffic a few cars behind the limo. She followed them to a posh restaurant she couldn't ever afford. She parked her car across the street and disappeared into the darkness of the alley.

An hour later her phone vibrated and she headed back to her car to see the woman and her date get into the limo, no doubt headed to a club. They ended up at a chic club she wasn't sure she could afford the cover charge to. She wasn't exactly dressed for clubbing anyway.

She parked her car nearby, motioned to the limo driver her thanks, before slipping into the alley. There was probably very few vampires prowling a club of this…monetary status, but even vampires could be gold diggers. She didn't know when it would happen, but she knew this would be the place. She'd gone through the other cases over and over. Three dates, either on a Friday-Saturday-Friday or Friday-Saturday-Wednesday if she was feeling antsy or needed the cash. This was a Friday-Saturday-Friday deal, so she wasn't planning on leaving that night, and she wasn't on a tight budget, and she hadn't caught on that she was being watched.

It was two hours, and obviously plenty of alcohol later that the suspect and the victim stumbled out of the band entrance. She didn't want to reveal herself until she was certain the woman was a vampire, though her gut and spine were screaming at her that this was no normal chick. She thought it odd, her spine had never reacted to a normal vampire before, but she pushed the thought aside as the date stumbled and fell to the alley floor. She moved in, knowing the vampire wasn't as drunk as she appeared. It was simple enough staking. She was about to leave when the man groaned, standing on shaky legs.

"Where'd Steph go?" he asked, looking at her curiously.

She stuffed the stake into her purse, "That woman? She left, muttering something about some flashy drunk."

"This is all too familiar." She looked at him like he was crazy, wondering just what he meant by that comment. "Getting drunk and meeting a beautiful blonde in an alley. Are you here to save me?" he asked, before he tripped again and passed out.

She looked around, she really didn't want to deal with him, but she couldn't just leave him. That would defeat the purpose of getting rid of 'Steph'. She sighed, throwing one of his arms around her shoulder and dragged him to her car.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

"Ugh," he groaned, blinking at the bright sunlight.

"Here," she forced a mug of coffee into his hands. He wobbled, then set the cup on the coffee table and pushed himself into a sitting position before taking possession of the coffee mug again.

"What happened? Where am I?" he asked, taking a sip of the hot liquid.

"You had too much to drink, and then you passed out in an alley. I was, uh, walking by, and I couldn't exactly leave you there…you're in my motel room."

"Thanks so much," he said, "I don't generally drink that much," he said, not sure why he was explaining himself to this stranger, "I don't know what came over me," he groaned, "A beer or two or five with friends, a few glasses of wine at dinner, a drink or two at the club…"

"So you remember…?"

"Not a lot, just snippets. Oh, I'm Liam O'Connor, by the way."

"I know who you are, Mr. O'Connor," she said with a brief smile, "I'm Jessica Winters," she said, remembering her alias in time. "Would you like something to eat? I'm not that good a cook, but I think I can manage not to burn some cereal," she laughed, not sure why she was offering.

"No, I don't want to chance it. I'm generally pretty good at being hung over, spent most of my twenties like that, but I'm not sure I can handle food right now. Would you let me pay you back for letting me use your couch by allowing me to take you to dinner?"

She hadn't slept much that night, and she had had enough time while he was unconscious to get a good look at him, and she decided he reminded her too much of Angel, she had been avoiding looking at him, finding other, more interesting things to look at. But at his question, her eyes snapped up from the plain carpet, and she held his gaze a moment, her fear evident.

"Uh," he continued, keeping eye contact, "dinner t-tonight, or something more casual, lunch tomorrow maybe?" he asked, giving her a smile, turning on the charm, though he didn't know why.

She didn't answer immediately, scared by what she saw in his eyes. He was skinnier than Angel, less muscle, and his hair was the wrong color, but looking into his eyes, she saw Angel. He reminded her most of the first time when she had met Angel, when he was still skinny, before he had started taking better care of himself, working out, so he could protect her…

"No, I should really be getting back. I was only in town for business," she explained hastily.

"One meal. Who knows what could have happened if you hadn't dragged me here? You might have saved my life."

"It's no big deal, really," she said, trying to find her way out.

"Maybe not to you, but it's a big deal to me, and I bet there are a couple thousand women across America who agree with me. Come one, let me take you to dinner."

"I wouldn't have anything to wear, even if I did agree, I'm here on business."

"If that's your best excuse," he said, digging into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, "Here, go and buy yourself something pretty, accessories and everything." He held out a credit card.

She stiffened, drawing herself up to her full height, "I don't take charity."

"It's not charity. I want to thank a pretty girl for saving my life, but she's being stubborn. Fine," he put the card away, "What can I do to convince you?"

She sighed, "If I go to dinner with you, will you leave me alone?"

He held up two of his fingers, "Scout's honor," he gave her a smile that was completely Angel's, and she felt her heart stop, "I'll stop bothering you after you go out with me, if you want me to. I'll pick you up at eight."

"Fine," she nodded, trying to breath. She hoped the tightness in her throat couldn't be heard through her voice.

"I should go now," he said, standing.

"Yes, you should," she stood as well, following him to the door. She couldn't keep her eyes from traveling from his navy blazer to his khaki slacks. He had a very nice, tight ass. A part of her was sad that she hadn't had to strip him to his underwear to treat any wounds. Assuming he wore underwear….

_Get a grip, Summers!_ Her mind screamed. _Angel's been dead for two years and you start lusting after someone who kinda looks like him? _

_What's wrong with lust? _ Another part of her mind asked, _a girl's got needs. _

_You'll never be satisfied with anyone but Angel. Besides, look where lust led you last time, and that mess with Spike. _

"You're right," she murmured.

"What?" he turned to look at her.

She looked at him, "Nothing," she said, startled, "Just, uh, thinking out loud."

"So, I'll see you at eight?"

"Right." He left, and she closed the door behind him, resting her head against the wood. "What have I gotten myself into?"

After a minute, she reached for her purse and keys. Him offering her money had been a direct attack. Just because she was staying at a motel didn't mean she couldn't afford a hotel. She just preferred motels. Less questions asked, and if she needed to stay awhile longer than she expected, it wouldn't blow her budget.

But as her fingers closed around her keys, she stopped. She didn't want to go all out, did she? This was _not _a date. But she hadn't been on a date in over two years. She hadn't been on anything remotely resembling a date in over two years. She missed it.

"Well, why can't it be a date?" she asked herself, "He's attractive, and I've read enough magazines to know girls would die to go out with him, though his photos just don't do him justice.

"If I dressed up, would he think it was a date? He really left no inclination as to where we might be going to dinner, what if I overdress?" she sighed, "I am so out of practice." As she turned, she caught sight of herself in the hall mirror, "Ye gods, we need to do something," she picked at her hair. Though she was a natural blonde, she sometimes got her highlights touched up, like during the winter when the sun was weak and she lost some of the natural highlights she got in the Californian sun. But now her hair was dull and she had tons of split ends. She looked at her face in the mirror and the stress related breakout she had, even though she was twenty-six. Her nails were trashed too from months of evenings fighting for her life.

"I've really let myself go," she murmured, smoothing the purplish bruise under her eye from lack of sleep. "That's it, I can't go out like this."

An hour later she had hair, facial and manicure appointments at the places she used to go when she lived in LA. The woman that owned the place had remembered her, and one of her old friends now worked their, so they had promised to fit her in to their schedule. She smiled at herself in the mirror as she left, knowing she'd look much better soon.


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Feedback: A must.

When she met him at her door at 8 sharp, her skin glowed with a healthy looking tan, her hair fell down in waves with perfect highlights, her nails were French manicured, and her toes were bite me red. She had bought a simple black sheath that fell to her mid thigh, had a scooped neckline and spaghetti straps. She wore one inch black heeled sandals, a diamond bracelet her Mom had given her for graduation, a simple cross, and silver studs in her ears.

"You look…gorgeous," he said, once he found his voice. He hadn't realized such a pretty woman was under the rumpled sweats she had been wearing.

"Thanks, I hope I'm not overdressed," she said, looking at his kaki slacks and black blazer. "I just figured I'd make the best of this. It's not every day, after all, that I get to dine with one of People's Sexiest Men and Seventeen's Most Eligible Bachelor."

"So you did your homework," he said with a grin.

"I always do my homework," she said, eyebrows raised.

"Well, not everything they say about me in magazines and tabloids are true," he laughed.

"Like what?"

"You'll have to find that out on your own."

"I love a challenge," she smiled, a bit shocked that she was flirting with him. He offered her his arm, and she took it gracefully.

She stopped short when they came around the edge of the building , "A limo?" she choked.

"Did I mention how much my life means to me?" he asked in a playful manner, opening the door for her.

"I'm starting to wonder," she said softly, getting in. He was about to follow her when she poked her head out, eyes wide, "There's a TV in here!" he laughed, getting in.

Once they were on their way, she turned to him, asking, "So, where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

"I hate surprises."

"Well, maybe you should learn to like them. Hate is such a strong work."

She didn't answer him, looking around inside the limo, "Is that a refrigerator?" she asked.

"Would you like some wine?" he asked, "I didn't know what you'd like, so I had it stocked with a variety," he explained, reaching to open the mini ridge, revealing the twelve different brands.

"Oh, you really didn't have to do that. Uh, I'll have a small glass," she said, feeling bad about refusing after he went to so much trouble, "I don't care which, I don't tend to drink alcoholic beverages. There was this incident in college…" she shook her head.

He laughed, "Say no more," he pulled out a bottle from the fridge and poured two glasses, handing her one, "My favorite. Not overly rare, the brand at least. 1725, an excellent year."

She almost choked on her first sip, recognizing the year from some of the research she and Willow had done back in high school. It had to be a coincidence…

"It's always been my favorite year," he said, "Though most 1700's are good. Not 1753, though. Some of my friends adore that year. But I've just got this aversion to it. Even beer companies that were established in that year I can't stand. "

"Odd," she choked out.

"So, you know a bit about me, but what about you? What do you do for a living?"

She looked at him, a surprised look on her face, "You didn't do your homework?" she asked, knowing full well he wouldn't have found anything if he had tried.

He laughed, "It'll have to be late, my contacts haven't gotten back to me yet."

"How about I save them the trouble," she said, unsure if he was joking or not. "I actually grew up in LA, but we moved to a small Californian town after my parents divorced. As for work, I dabble. I'm pretty much financially secure, but I do some teaching, investigating, protection, whatever floats my boat at the time."

"What type of teaching?" he asked conversationally.

"Self defense for teen girls."

"Strictly?"

"Sometimes they're younger than that, but not generally older," she glanced at him, "So I'm sexist. I just think girls need it more."

"Hey, I was just wondering. I think it's great. But I sense you're the type that would take 'I won't hit a girl' as an insult."

"I take it both ways. If it stops a man from beating his wife and or daughter, then I'm all for it," she took a sip of wine, "But if it stops a guy from starting something just because of gender, that irritates me," she stopped, then rushed, "I'm not saying fighting's good, but if a boy would get into a fight with another boy over the problem, but won't just because it's a girl, that's discrimination."

He nodded, "I agree."

"So, what do you do for work?" she asked, wanting to get the topic off of her.''

He laughed, "I don't think of it as work, but I do some private investigations."

"Ah."

"What?" he asked, turning to look at her.

"Nothing," she said, looking at him quickly, before finishing her wine. He poured some more wine into her glass, and she started to protest, but stopped herself. "This has to be the last glass," she said, "I don't tend to hold my alcohol very well," she murmured, taking a sip.

The limo stopped; he finished the last bit of wine in his glass, and flustered, she downed hers. He laughed as he took the glass from her. She smiled, nervously, then followed him out of the limo. They were led right to their table, and there was no fuss at the door. Having not lived in LA for years, she was surprised. She had forgotten how common limos tended to be.

He ordered wine for them, and she felt a bit annoyed. But once it came, she knew it was expensive, and so she drank it peevishly.

They examined the menus silently, and she suddenly didn't know what she was doing there. More than anything, she wanted to be back in England at that moment, not in some fancy restaurant with some rich bachelor. She searched the menu quickly for something that would take the least amount of time to prepare. She settled on a salad, how long could it take to make a salad?

He watched her pour over the menu, watching the way her green eyes moved back and forth, the way she wrinkled her forehead slightly. He found her fascinating. She wasn't like the girls he had dated in the past. For the most part, they had been models, actresses, or daughter of his father's friends, shallow creatures, where half of them was fake.

But from her attire alone, he could tell she was different. She was short, but her shoes weren't overly high to compensate. They were practical. She was thin, but not extremely skinny, and the dress wasn't flashy. She looked like money, with her perfect tan, flawless skin, highlighted hair, and manicured nails, but her earrings were simple teardrops, which he'd guess weren't even real diamonds. And she was wearing a simple silver cross and a simple, unflashy ring. He unobtrusively looked at the ring, already knowing what he'd order. It was silver, with two hands holding a heart, and a crown on top of the heart. Something stirred in the back of his mind, but as he tried to remember, it was gone.

"You're staring," her soft voice cut through his thoughts.

"I was admiring your ring."

She glanced at it, as if she had forgotten she was wearing it, "It's a-a friendship ring. Well," she stared at it sadly, the emotion clear in her eyes, and it transformed her whole body as she stared at the ring, and he knew she must have lost someone very dear to her, "the hands represent friendship, and the crown loyalty," she swallowed quickly, blinking, then grabbed her glass of wine and finished it off. She knew it was her third glass of wine, and she was in danger of becoming drunk if she didn't slow down, but all of a sudden, she didn't care. Getting drunk didn't seem like such a bad idea anymore. She had tried everything else to forget him.

"And the heart?" he asked, pouring her more wine.

"You can't guess?" she asked, sipping her fourth glass.

"What happened to not being a big drinker?" he asked, changing the subject.

"We're celebrating, right?" she asked, knowing the alcohol was already starting to affect her, and she no longer cared. She could make a complete ass out of herself here and now, then catch the next flight out of this hell. "Here's to your life. May it always be filled with…pleasurable company and fine wine," she said, holding her glass aloft, before downing it.

"That's not all I care about," he said quietly.

"Hmm?" she asked, pouring herself another glass. Getting shit faced was looking more and more appealing.

"That's not all I care about," he said more clearly, "Pleasurable company and fine wine," he clarified, "I do long for something more," he said, then sighed.

"Like what?" she asked.

He was about to answer when the waiter came. She ordered her grilled chicken breast salad, and he ordered a steak, well done.

"A man can't go through life, forever being Most Eligible Bachelor, and Hottest Man of 2005. Eventually, I'm going to slide down the list, and then disappear. I'll become one of those guys who looks like he's rich, a guy who looks like someone that used to be famous.

"Eventually, I would like to get married, have a family, do something more with my life."

"Like what?" she asked, sipping her wine.

He sighed, "That I don't know." He leaned forward, "I've always had this…need to help people. Nothing is more satisfying than helping people with their problems. It's like this obsessive-compulsive thing I have to help people, I do it fervently when I can, like I feel the need to atone for something," he said in hushed tones, confiding in her.

"Maybe you have a guilty conscience?" she asked. If she had been sober, she would have heard the warning bells going off in her head. Things were a little too déjà vu for her liking. But the five or six glasses of expensive wine she had consumed had made her tipsy-she never had had any luck at holding her liquor.

"No, no I don't think it's that. All children are malicious, and I went through a reckless phase to get back at my father, but I've never broken any big laws, I've never even received a speeding ticket. I've never been arrested. There's nothing I remember that would cause me to be this fervent in my need to help. I-I think it's from a past life or something," he said in hushed tones, astonished that he was confiding all this to a perfect stranger.

"Past life, smast….smife," she said at last, giggling.

"You don't believe in past lives?" he asked.

"Not if you can't die," she told him. "This…red wine is a dream. I haven't had this much alcohol in…at least five years. Maybe that's my problem. I'm too much of a goody-goody. I did the boo-hooing, and the losing myself in my work, but I never tried drowning myself in alcohol."

"Jessi," Liam bit his lip, noticing for the first time she was going through wine like crazy, drinking down a glass at an alarming rate, and filling it back up with the bottle she had confiscated.

"Who? Ah, yeah, the alias. When I'm undercover, you know? When no one needs to know my real name. Like Rumplestitskins. You know, a name equals power. So I have the power. I have power issues, I have to be in control of the situation, or I wig." She stopped her ramblings when the waiter brought their food. She dug into her salad as soon as it was polite to.

He looked at her, watching her eat, listening to her babble on in her drunken state, picking at his food. Obviously she had been through something traumatic recently, with all the talk of trying to forget. But what was she trying to forget?

"So, why do you feel the need for an alias?" he asked conversationally.

"Because by knowing my real name, people have power over me. They can learn who I am, what I do, where I go, all of that. And that puts my loved ones in danger, though it doesn't really matter anymore, because the one person I truly cared about is gone. I couldn't protect him."

"So, should I call you Jessi, or…?"

"Buffy, call me Buffy. Just Buffy. I lost my last name a long time ago. Kinda like Cher, ya know? No last name, no true identity."

He hated doing so, but he poured himself some more wine, and then poured her some more as well. He really didn't enjoy getting drunk as he had in his youth. Finally he was getting some answers from her, her ramblings and body language were starting to make sense, even though he hated the way he had to do it. She sipped it this time, picking at her salad, while he ate his steak.

"What about your family? Parents, siblings?"

"My Mom's dead, my father should be. He's been dead to me since he left us when I was fifteen. Only my sister is still with me."

"Ah," he said, filing the information away. "Where are you from?"

"LA, then good ole Sunnydale, and now I travel a lot. I share an apartment with my friend in England, but sometimes I'm in Rome with my sister, sometimes I'm in France, or Switzerland. I go where I'm needed."

They continued talking, but it was becoming very clear that she had managed to get herself piss drunk. And she seemed to get violent when she was drunk. At one point, when they were talking about politics, she slammed her fist on the table and broke it.

"Oh, my god! I am so sorry!" she said, her eyes no longer as blurry as they had been.

"It's okay, ma'am," the waiter assured her.

"Let's get out of here," he said, signaling for the check, "And I'll pay for the table."

"Sorry," she murmured once they were back in the limo.

"It's okay. I had fun," he looked over to see her staring at him, "Do you want to do something else? Go to my place, or a club, have a drink or something before I take you home?"

"That would be lovely. You've already seen my place, and I've never been inside a millionaire's house before."


End file.
